


as sweet as we know

by exhaustedwerewolf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (Like... INCREDIBLY mild.), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bad Parenting, Christmas Fluff, Crushes, Fade Nerds, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mild Blood, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Tension Via Wound Cleaning, Self-Indulgent, Speech Disorders, Texting, all the bad stuff in this fic is so veiled I promise, so vaguely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhaustedwerewolf/pseuds/exhaustedwerewolf
Summary: "We'll build new traditions in place of the old'cause life without revision will silence our souls,"Dorian and Lucan aren't going home for Christmas- in fact, both are planning to spend their holidays entirely alone.





	1. monday, december 17

**Author's Note:**

> title and epigraph in the summary taken from by sleeping at last's snow. hope you enjoy!

Dorian squinted against the flurries of snow, blinking away the flakes that had settled on his lashes, and retreated further into his scarf, tugging it up over his nose and mouth. The sharp edge to the wintry air lent it a taste as cool and clean as spearmint, and with each footfall his boots crunched in the fresh layer of snow. Just a few days ago it would already have been churned to muddied, watery sludge by students trekking back and forth from campus, but the end of the term had transformed the normally bustling university town of Skyhold into a ghost town. Between the eerie silence and surreal sparkle of snow and frost in the morning light, Dorian could feel the change, a sigh within him that breathed in time with the numb ache of his fingers, curled deep in his coat pockets. _Kaffas,_ but did he wish he hadn’t left his gloves.

He didn’t enter so much as stumble over the threshold into the Herald’s Rest, the shopkeeper’s bell above the door drowned by the rattle-slam as he hurried to shut out the chill air. It was only once the door was closed, and he’d had a moment to bask in the warmth, breathing deeply the heady scent of coffee and carding his fingers through his damp hair, that he registered that his regular haunt had become a graveyard all of its own. All that came to his ears was the faint and tinny sound of Christmas music; something trying to be jazzy, with sleigh bells and a piano improvisation that meandered too much, a far cry from the usual babbel of conversation and laughter. The noisy scuffing off his boots against the welcome mat seemed almost uncivilised. Not a single table, he realised, was occupied, and the placed looked so much bigger when it was empty. The blank tabletops gleamed like ice in the sunlight, and the glittering tinsel and slowly spinning ornaments hung from the ceiling did little to fill the void. Neither, he realised, did there seem to be anyone at the counter- but then, the door had been unlocked.

“Hello?” He called out, still brushing snow from his shoulders.

He heard a clattering sound from the depths of the shop, and raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” a voice answered back, and a barista appeared, stepping out through the storage room door behind the counter. “We’re open,” he said, “What can I get for you today?”

The man was tall, on the scrawny side, and there was a hesitance to the way he held himself that struck Dorian as familiar. It took him a few moments to dredge up the man’s face from his memory; this, he remembered, was a friend of Sera’s,- the two of them knew each other from archery, and he’d seen him himself at some talks and seminars about magic. Now that he wasn’t glimpsing him across a crowded lecture theatre or in the half-dark at a party, he realised with something like pleasure, that he was rather handsome, if in a strange sort of way; messy steel grey hair, warm brown skin flecked with freckles. Dorian shed his snow-smattered coat, folding it over one arm, and summoned as charming a smile as he could manage, choosing to believe that the frigid breeze had left him looking windswept rather than bedraggled.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, I’m absolutely parched.” He said, with a conspiratorial quirk to his smile. “Lucan, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Y-Yes.” Lucan’s voice, was, as Dorian remembered, deep and quiet, formally accented. “Dorian- I hope that’s right?” His eyes met Dorian’s, and Dorian found himself admiring those too; they were long lashed, a warm brown that shone like amber in the shafts of light streaming through the window and turning the dust motes to flecks of gold. 

“Guilty as charged.” When Dorian spoke, Lucan broke his gaze again, as if he had been caught staring where he shouldn’t have. The flicker of interest that had ignited in Dorian’s chest dimmed a little, but didn’t quite douse itself.

“What can I get for you?” 

Dorian hummed thoughtfully as he scanned the menu, and again he felt Lucan’s eyes on him as he skimmed the choices, and suppressed an inward smile.

“I’ll take a hazelnut praline latte,” he said, at length. “‘Tis the season, after all.”

“That’ll be three sovereigns.” Lucan replied, and, wanting to show off, Dorian expended just a little mana to magic the coins from his wallet to the palm of his hand with a flick of his wrist. Lucan blinked in surprise, and he smiled shyly, as he took the coin. Dorian tilted his head thoughtfully at his expression- he had assumed, from seeing Lucan in his lectures, that he’d been dealing with another mage… his train of thought was interrupted as Lucan handed him his receipt with a polite dip of his head. 

“It’ll be ready for you in just a moment.” He said, and as he turned towards the espresso machine, Dorian was further surprised to catch a glimpse of a scar- a deep score that swept from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. He passed his tongue over his teeth and headed to the end of the counter to wait. 

-

Forty-five minutes later, the hazelnut praline latte was no more, although Dorian had recoiled at the intense sugary sweetness of it at his first taste, and had been forced to suppress a spluttering cough. (He’d _thought_ he’d heard Lucan huff in amusement, but when he’d twisted around to look over his shoulder, he’d apparently been busy with one of the more futuristic looking machines behind the counter.) Still, he’d found himself sipping absent-mindedly at his coffee when he paused from typing, scrunching up his nose in fresh betrayal each time the concoction failed to transfigure itself into a black espresso. 

Even with the absence of the usual clientele, the Herald’s Rest stirred Dorian’s productivity; he had been lost in his work from the moment he’d opened up his document, fingers flying on the keyboard. Time slipped away quite unnoticed, as he moved seamlessly between research and writing. 

“Excuse me, Dorian?” Lucan’s voice roused him from his focus- he looked away from the screen, and tilted his head, inviting Lucan to continue. “Sorry- to interrupt.” Lucan pressed his hand to his mouth. “Would you mind if I changed the music?” He looked apologetic. “This playlist has been on repeat all day, and it’s a touch… repetitive?”

In his concentration, Dorian had completely tuned out the festive jazz- letting his attention drift back to it, he found the current track lively with a bouncing celesta that would surely induce a headache if listened to over and over and over- he grew faintly nauseated at the thought. 

“Please,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you so much!” Lucan vanished into the stockroom again, and a few moments later, the chiming of the celesta dwindled away, and a warmer music flooded the room, strings- a cello, Dorian guessed. He returned again to his essay, but this time half-listening to his surroundings. It was hardly what he’d play of his own accord- there was no edge to it; it was almost classical, if a little too experimental to be labelled as such, but still, it brought melody to the space, seemed to _fit_ here, within the confines of the wide frost painted windows, like choral voices fit a chantry hall. The cadence of his own writing realigned itself to mirror the music as he typed, and his breathing, too, came to match the lilt. Somewhere, in the corner of his mind, he knew that Lucan behind the counter was working to the same rhythm, and he ignored the distant thought that this was the least lonely he’d been in three days. 

-

“Thank you.” Lucan said, as Dorian handed him back his empty mug. 

“The pleasure is mine.” Dorian replied, with a stagey wink that, in an easy victory, seemed to stammer Lucan’s movements for a heartbeat. “It’s quite a different atmosphere, when it’s quiet, but I think I find I like it.” He turned, shouldering his laptop bag, and then hesitated, as if just remembering something. “Speaking of,” he said, and Lucan, who had apparently begun to let his guard down, stiffened again. “Who’s this you’ve been playing?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the speakers. 

“Th-“ Lucan, quite spontaneously, fumbled with the mug, and for a moment, Dorian feared he’d drop it, but he righted it. “A band. Th- called Crystal Graves.” 

Dorian nodded, thumbing at his lip thoughtfully.

“I’ll look them up.” He said. “Good background music.”

“Th- They’re really good lyrically, too.” Lucan replied, and then pressed his hand to his mouth again. “Um. I th- believe so, anyway- Sorry, it’s good background music too-“

“I’ll give them a proper listen.” Dorian said, unable to suppress a pleased smile. “Thank you for the recommendation, Lucan; I suppose I’ll see you around?” 

Lucan dropped his hand, then, and offered a small smile in response. 

“You’re welcome.” He replied softly. “Thanks for choosing the Herald’s Rest.”

-

Dorian waited until he had rounded the corner to dig his earphones out of his pocket, thumbing through his phone to queue up Crystal Graves as he did so _._ When he’d pressed play and the first chord rang out in his ears, as if to echo through the snow blanketed street, he set off back towards his dorm, and this time he saw how the low winter sun tinged the white of the settled snow with gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea with this fic is to upload every day, starting today (although it's already past midnight where I am smh) leading up to Christmas, to kind of tell this story in real time. I have zero idea if I can achieve that- I've written ahead a bit, but not enough to say for sure, but I'm going to do my best! So thank you very much for reading.


	2. tuesday, december 18

Lucan was in a cautiously good mood. He’d arisen at the chirp of his first alarm suspiciously well rested, and had ample time to sit and stare out into the still morning, past the icicles that fretted his window, nursing a mug of earl grey, the steam curling wispily as veilfire. The Herald’s Rest seemed today to him as hushed as the rest of Skyhold, and with every machine stocked and every cup and table gleaming, he’d surreptitiously taken out a book behind the counter, and, feeling bold, flicked the christmas music off again in favour of a more tolerable soundtrack. 

Before long, he’d quite lost himself in ‘ _A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation’_ .He was quite focused- pausing occasionally only to flick to the glossary or take a note in the margin- but as midday approached the customer from the day before crossed his mind, and he found himself glancing up from the pages. 

On the third occasion Lucan looked up, it was exactly in time to glimpse Dorian in the split-second before he slipped on the icy pavement and went over backwards like a nug on rollerskates. 

With a gasp, Lucan leapt to his feet, abandoning his book. He burst out into the stinging cold to find Dorian sitting up, blinking dazedly. Even reasonably dishevelled, with his fashionable winter coat now caked with snow, and his embroidered scarf slipping from around his neck, he still looked better than he had any business looking, for someone who had just tumbled over in the snow. He pressed a hand to his forehead, and then grimaced at the movement, clutching at his forearm. Lucan shook himself out of his trance. 

“Maker- are you alright? That was quite a fall.” He asked, stupidly- because of course he wasn’t alright; even now Dorian was cautiously peeling back his sleeve, revealing beads of blood smeared by the movement. Lucan winced. “Please- let me help you up,” He offered a hand out to Dorian, who finally looked away from the red stain and up at him, and _Maker,_ his eyes. He hadn’t held his gaze long enough to notice before, but the vivid green tinge to the hazel quite stole his breath, sent a rush of lightheadedness through him. Lucan tried for a reassuring smile. “We have bandages inside.”

Dorian smiled back, though the expression was a little tight.

“My saviour,” he said, with mock dramatism, laying a hand on his heart. “Thank you.” He reached out to take Lucan’s hand, and Lucan helped him up as best he could, picking up his bag for him as he did so. Dorian’s foot slid again on the ice, but Lucan caught him at the elbow and steadied him. 

Lucan led Dorian to the table closest to the entrance, and, depositing the bag, pulled back a chair for him. 

“I’ll fetch the kit, it’s just in the storeroom.” He promised as Dorian sank into his seat. At his nod, Lucan darted off to retrieve the necessary supplies.

As he returned and set the kit down on the table, Dorian’s voice caught his attention.

“Will I live, doctor?” He asked, and Lucan was startled into a laugh. 

“Oh, I quite- I like your chances.” He replied, turning back to Dorian, and to his delight, he grinned back. “May I-?” He began a little uncertainly, gesturing with an antiseptic wipe, but Dorian nodded.

“Please.”

Lucan sat down in the chair beside him, and, with a steadying breath that was somewhat ruined by the sharp ethanol sting of the antiseptic, he took Dorian’s hand as gently as he could, and pressed softly at the worst of the scrape. Dorian hissed through his teeth, almost inaudibly, and Lucan hesitated, but Dorian didn’t pull away, so he swallowed thickly and kept going, concentrating deeply on keeping his eyes on Dorian’s wrist, and _off_ his face. This close, Lucan could smell his aftershave, orange and cinnamon, and he was deeply aware of Dorian’s breathing, could feel the warmth of it, in contrast with the chill lingering in his skin where Lucan’s fingers brushed against him unintentionally.

When he judged the graze to be clean, Lucan wound a bandage about Dorian’s forearm, still focused wholly on keeping his touch light and his gaze down. Surely, he thought, Dorian could feel his pulse throbbing through his fingertips.

When he was finished, he let out a silent exhale, and pulled back. 

“I’ll bring your drink to your table.” Lucan stood and shut the kit with a decisive click. Now that he had spent so long avoiding Dorian’s gaze, looking into his eyes for any length of time was proving difficult. “On the house. I’m- sorry you fell.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that-” Dorian began, beginning to rise from his chair, but Lucan shook his head. 

“Honestly, it’s no trouble- it’s been so quiet.” He managed to meet Dorian’s eyes briefly, but couldn’t help but look away again when he felt his ears growing hot. “Besides, I think you technically slipped on Herald’s Rest property. We- _ah_ \- owe you compensation?” Dorian paused for a moment. 

“Alright,” He said, won over. “I think a gingerbread latte would be fantastic compensation, if that would be amiable.”

“I can do that.” Lucan agreed, and whisked away to make the drink.

-

Lucan had never brewed a latte with such simultaneous haste and care, the milky steam misting the air, ghostly. With a generous swirl of whipped cream, and a sprinkle of crystallised ginger, he’d set the mug down in front of Dorian inside a minute.

The clackof porcelain against wood prompted Dorian, who had been leant back, dozing, to open his eyes. 

“That _was_ fast.” He commented absently, and took a cautious sip. Lucan hesitated, unsure if he was looking for a response. 

Surfacing from his drink, Dorian heaved a contented sigh. 

“Better than the hazelnut?” Lucan said, unthinkingly, and then immediately tensed in embarrassment, but Dorian merely _mhmed_ appreciatively. 

“This one has some spice to it.” He said, by way of explanation, and then he glanced about. “Maker, there really _is_ no-one here, is there? It’s positively eerie. Cabot didn’t want to close up for the holidays?”

Lucan bit his lip, guilt twisting at his insides.

“Honestly, when I told him I wanted to work over Christmas I’d never imagined it would be this quiet.” He admitted. “I think he was doing me a favour? You’re the only person that’s been here in the last two days.” 

Dorian nodded, processing, and took another sip of his latte.

“You really wanted to work over Christmas?” He asked. “I could hardly find anyone who wasn’t rushing home.”

Lucan laid his hand across his mouth nervously, fingers coming up to cover the left side of his face, and then winced at the nervous habit, and forced himself to drop his hand again.

“I’m trying to save up, pay my parents back for my schooling.” He explained. “I have rather a lot of siblings, I don’t want to burden them anymore than I have to. And I’d like to- to be financially independent as soon as possible.” 

The twist of guilt built to a bit of a sting at the half-truth, and when it came, Dorian’s reply did nothing to ease it.

“That’s admirable of you.” He said, wicking away some cream from the corner of his cup. “I’m not financially independent yet myself, Maker knows.” He lapsed into silence, and then added; “But I would like to be.” A rueful smile spread on his face. “I should probably work on that.”

At the mention of _work,_ Lucan’s mind woke back up. 

“Oh, you’re here t-to study, aren’t you?” He blurted. “Sorry, I th- I’ll let you work.” 

Dorian shook his head, and flashed a grin.

“You’re a wonderful distraction.” He said, and Lucan felt something akin to a firework going off in his chest. “But regrettably, you’re right; I really should keep on.”

“Best of luck.” Lucan managed, talking past the fluttering in his chest, and he made his hasty retreat back to the counter, taking refuge behind the pages of his book. 

Lucan’s concentration wasn’t quite what it had been that morning- he found himself glancing periodically over at his only customer. Dorian’s rings glinted in the light as his fingers flew on the keyboard. His focus lent him a sort of gravitas- a furrow to his proud brow that made him look more like a ruminating professor than a student, especially in the few moments when he would pause, staring into the middle distance in deep thought, before recommencing his writing.

As the hours drew on, Lucan looked up less and less often, as he had the day before, growing gradually accustomed to Dorian’s presence. The shadows cast by the whiteish winter sunlight lengthened, and then faded as evening stole in. 

-

“Dorian?” Lucan called.

“Hm?” Dorian replied, eyes still on his screen.

“Sorry- we’re just- it’s closing time.” Lucan faltered. Dorian seemed to take a moment to register this, and then turned his head abruptly to the window. Lucan felt a glimmer of amusement watching Dorian blink, astonished at the dark street. He shook his head in disbelief.

“The time just went…” he murmured, shutting his laptop. A moment later he appeared beside the counter with his empty mug outstretched.

Lucan thanked him and took it, the rhythm of his heart faltering when their fingers grazed. He pulled back quickly, and turned to rinse out the mug. 

He had expected Dorian to make his exit, but he heard no receding footsteps. When he had finished, he shot Dorian a questioning look.

“I thought I’d join you on your way out, if that’s alright.”

Lucan gave the room a cursory glance to see if he could get away with leaving the place as is, if only overnight. The lack of customers translated perfectly to a lack of mess; the tabletops were as spotless as they had been that morning. Even as he thought this, he was unpicking the knot at the back of his apron.

“That’s- it’s fine. Just give me a moment?”

At Dorian’s nod, Lucan vanished again into the store room. He tossed his apron in the direction of a hook, missed, and left it- already shrugging on his winter coat and grabbing for his bag. He paused at the counter when he re-emerged, to slip his book back into his bag. Dorian’s eyes followed his movements.

 _“A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation?”_ He asked, eyes aglow with curiosity. Lucan nodded. 

“How are you liking it?”

“Oh, I’m sure a lot of it is going over my head.” Lucan said automatically, shouldering his bag. He fell into step with Dorian as they headed for the front doors. “Um- Mareno’s assertion that it’s the difficulty of entering- or perceiving the Fade I suppose- th- that influenced our language and our perception of it as a separate location is interesting.” He stepped to one side to flick off the lights and to prop open the door for Dorian, who smiled as if bemused, but dipped his head in thanks. “I th- I believe he’s onto something, there.” The pair emerged into the stinging cold, and Dorian shuddered reflexively. After the warmth of the Herald’s Rest, stepping out into the chill was like plunging into icy water. Lucan paused to lock up, the keys jangling ringing out in the snow silence.

“Sounds like you’ve understood him perfectly to me.” Dorian commented when he straightened, and Lucan tugged his scarf over his mouth. The streetlights bathed the last of yesterday’s snow in amber light. The world seemed to end in the blue dark beyond their steady shine.

“Which way are you headed?”

“Ah- Sorry.” Lucan blinked back to full consciousness, and gestured down the street. “I’m catching a bus.”

“Then this is where we must regrettably part ways after all,” said Dorian with mock seriousness. “I must bid you adieu. Thank you for the latte. Apologies for sitting in the shop for hours on end without spending any coin.”

“No, you’re- you’re welcome.” A chill breeze stirred Dorian’s dark hair, and Lucan dropped his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good night.”

-

It wasn’t until Lucan had dropped into a seat, propping his chin in his palm to watch the twinkling christmas lights of Skyhold reel past him, that the realisation hit him, and he cringed inwardly. 

_He never said he was coming tomorrow, you idiot-_

Lucan spent most of the bus ride home determinedly regretting his existence, but his mind did wander more than once to the warm smell of ginger and cinnamon. 


	3. wednesday, december 19

This morning, Dorian was watching where he was putting his feet- so he noticed the towel draped over the steps leading up to the Herald’s Rest before he stepped, tentatively, onto it, and found better purchase than he had all morning, taking flat-footed steps along the icy pavement. He breathed out slowly, his exhale misting the air like dragon’s breath, and found himself oddly touched- though of course, Lucan was probably just looking to avoid anyone braining themselves on the corner of the stairs. That, or the ensuing lawsuit.

Shouldering open the door, he was momentarily surprised when the festive music of Monday morning met his ears, and more so to see two women holding hands in front of the counter; one human and one dwarven. He heard Lucan before he saw him, addressing the pair; no-one seemed to have taken any notice of the silvery voice of the shop bell announcing Dorian’s entrance.

“-morning, Maryden. Good morning, Lace.” Lucan was saying. “Is Krem not well?”

At once, Dorian recognised them- they were students too, but regulars here; Maryden strummed a guitar in the corner on Saturday evenings, and her partners watched from a nearby table, often cheering uproariously at the end of each song.

Maryden’s face must have fallen, because Lace snorted and tossed her head, looking fondly up at her girlfriend. Dorian strode towards the counter.

“He’s off with the Chargers for a few days. Mar’s been moping about…” She nudged her with her elbow. “Playing her sad songs.”

“I have _not._ ” Maryden protested, and even indignant her voice was still beautiful, intrinsically melodic.

“I’m sorry.” Lucan said, his own voice softening. “I’m sure you two must miss him.”

“It’s not the same without the bastard.” Lace agreed affectionately. “But he’ll be home for Christmas.” She glanced then, over her shoulder, and seeing Dorian approaching beamed; Maryden stepped back to turn towards him.

“Hello there,” Lace called. “Didn’t know you were in town for the holidays!”

Maryden’s movement had revealed Lucan, whose eyes were also on Dorian. As Dorian watched, he gave a short, shy wave. Dorian felt the lingering cold from his trek to the shop melt almost at once, and then realised abruptly that he had hardly even looked at Lace.

“Nor I you,” he said to her, warmly. “It’s good to see you both.”

“Likewise.” Lace replied cheerfully, but there was a glimmer of interest in her eye that turned the warm snowmelt in Dorian’s veins uncomfortably hot. Maryden too, arched an eyebrow, glancing between Dorian and Lucan, and then threw her arm around Lace’s shoulders.

“But we’re talking your ear off, Lucan.” She said, deliberately. “We’ll have a pair of hot chocolates.”

Lucan seemed about to respond- whether to tell them that they had the wrong idea or to ask them for the price, Dorian never found out- Lace flipped the coin over to him, which sang metallic as it spun- Lucan caught it middair.

“Would you bring the drinks to our corner table?” Lace asked, kissing Maryden’s draped hand casually. “When you’re done with Dorian’s order, of course.”

Still entwined, the pair whirled away, gliding towards their regular spot- Dorian caught only the shape of their whispers as they abandoned him at the counter. He couldn’t quite help himself from glaring after them, his heart throbbing, and then-

“Hey.” Lucan said, dazedly. He looked, quite frankly, sort of dazzled by Dorian’s presence, which left the man in question oddly charmed. He’d been here for the last two days in a row, after all- was his appearance really so pleasantly surprising?

“Hi.” Dorian’s response came out unusually quiet. He felt strangely unmoored. Lace and Maryden’s conversation was at once drowned out, as if carrying to him through hundreds of miles of ocean water.

“I take it you really like this place, then?” Lucan said, his hand coming up over his mouth.

“Well, I’m simply dying to try all of the Christmas drinks.” Dorian lied, and then, leaning forward, spoke hushed, conspiratorially. “But I doubt very much if that’s the _only_ reason.”

“Ah.” Lucan said, and the flush in his face was obvious to Dorian now, whose eyes flicked briefly to the menu to find today’s astonishingly sugary excuse for his presence.

“I think I’ll try the salted caramel and clementine today.” He suggested, and before Lucan could reply he drew on his magic, and the coins appeared once again in his hand. Just as before, Lucan’s eyes lit up, and this time Dorian couldn’t help but smile at his expression.

-

When finally, Maryden and Lace, still nudging one another and shooting conspiratorial glances over at Dorian and Lucan, took their leave of the Herald’s Rest, Dorian spun round in his chair at once.

“ _Please_ tell me you can turn off the _Jingle Bells_ now.” He said, with gravity. “I do believe that christmas pudding is going to start leaking out of my ears if I hear one more song with sleigh bells in it.”

Lucan gave a short laugh, and smiled obligingly.

“Of course.” He said, but before he could vanish into the storeroom Dorian added;

“Can you put on _Vandal Calvaria?_ ”

Lucan froze.

 _“Crystal Graves?_ ” He confirmed, unnecessarily- Dorian doubted there were many songs with the title, but still, he nodded. “You listened to them?”

“On your recommendation,” Dorian affirmed. “I’ve been quite enjoying their work- they’ve been sustaining me through my research.”

“Have they?” asked Lucan, sounding dazed. “One moment, I’ll change the music.”

After the christmas tunes were snuffed, Dorian was left alone to savour the clean, clear piano notes of the opening bar, blossoming in the silence. Lucan’s return was heralded by the unfluring of the melody that signalled the first verse; he headed over to the table where Lace and Maryden had been sitting, to wipe down the surface, and without registering it, Dorian found himself staring quite openly at him.

“Dorian?” At the sound of his name, Dorian jumped, but Lucan’s gaze was still fixed on the tabletop.

“Yes?” He replied a touch airlessly, hoping he sounded like he’d just been drawn out of his writing.

“If I’m not interrupting,” Lucan murmured, looking over to Dorian. “I was wondering if you could answer a question for me? About Mareno’s dissertation?”

Dorian sat up a little straighter.

“I can do my level best.” He said, and kicked out the chair across from him, gesturing to it invitingly. Hesitantly, Lucan dropped into the seat.

“If in th-,If in th- if hypothetically, _sorry_ \- Maker-” He said, raking a hand through his hair. Dorian shook his head.

“Go on.” He said.

Lucan took a breath, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shook his head helplessly. He was growing tense; Dorian could see it in his shoulders.

“ _Maker,_ ” He burst out. “Sorry. It’s pr- it’s stupid, never- never mind it.” He stood, but Dorian raised a hand.

“Hang on,” He said. “You can’t leave me in suspense.”

Lucan looked askance, doubtfully. Dorian noticed then that when he turned his gaze, he usually hid the scarred side of his face away as he did so.

“I’m-” Lucan said, and shook his head again.

“Please,” Dorian said hopefully. “Sit back down? I want to hear what you have to say. I’m not in a rush, you can take your time.”

After a few moments hesitation, Lucan moved slowly back into the chair, and Dorian couldn’t quash the pulse of pride he felt when Lucan gave him an unsteady smile.

“Th- I- appreciate it.” Lucan said, hands clenched in his lap.

Lucan didn’t get his question out immediately; he was forced more than once to rephrase to avoid catching on the odd consonant, and once more lapsed into silence completely for a few heartbeats, but soon enough, Dorian was frowning in consideration.

“If the Veil is metaphysical, then I suppose it makes sense that when a mage is talking about bending it… that’s a paradigm, or a placebo- a way of thinking about their magic that transcends how we think about our material world. Is that what you’re saying?” He confirmed.

Lucan bit his lip, and nodded.

“I’m obviously- I’m not a mage, so…” He trailed off. “But people talk about the Veil being th- weak in certain places, so that would have to be a- linguistics thing-” He cut himself off again, and looked embarrassed. Cautiously, Dorian went on.

“Like how our current language perpetuates the idea of the Fade being a physically separate location?” He prompted, and Lucan smiled self-consciously and nodded.

“D- Does it make sense?” He asked, leaning forward a little. Dorian stroked his chin.

“I really don’t see why not.” He admitted. “Although a theory’s hardly proof, and getting people to change their thinking in that way- especially given everything in the Chant of Light-” Lucan’s enthusiastic expression fell a little at that, and Dorian found himself quickly changing gears. “But that’s not to say it’s completely without potential. What branch of magic are you studying, again?”

“Ah,” Lucan seemed caught off guard. “I’m- not.” He looked sheepish. “My degree is in th- theology.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, perplexed. “Then- you attend the magic lectures for that, then?” He folded his hands under his chin, tilting his head in curiosity. “Fodder for essays on mages, that sort of thing?”

“ _No-_ ” Lucan spoke with sudden urgency that made Dorian blink in surprise, but then he withdrew. “Sorry- I only- I like magic. Just because I can’t cast it hardly makes it less interesting. The- Theology is just my degree.”

“Why are you doing a degree in theology, then, if magic interests you so much?” asked Dorian, and Lucan shrugged ruefully.

“I th- my parents would have a few things to say about that.” He said. “But what about your degree?”

Dorian paused. He didn’t want to watch Lucan’s curious expression crumple, but on the other hand, his question had clearly been a very deliberate change in subject.

“My focus is necromancy.” He replied, but to his surprise, Lucan’s eyes lit up.

“Oh!” He said, the note of earnest excitement in his voice resummoning the comfortable warmth Dorian had felt when he had first seen Lucan that morning. “I haven’t- haven’t got to speak to anyone studying it, yet. Is that what you’re writing for?”

“It’s a personal project,” Dorian acquiesced, sliding the laptop over so that it rested between the two of them. “But you can have a look, if you’re really so interested.”

“R-Really?” Lucan asked.

“It’d be helpful, actually, to have a fresh set of eyes.” He admitted.

“Th- Thank you!” Lucan said. “I can’t promise I’ll understand all- all of it, but- should I read it right now?”

“Go ahead.”

-

Dorian watched Lucan read, occasionally surfacing to ask a question- and, to Dorian’s delight, becoming less apologetic and hesitant with every ask. Absorbed in the reading, he seemed, finally, to relax- Dorian watched his gaze soften, his eyes skim line after line, his teeth worrying at his lip in thought.

Lucan hadn’t reached the end of the paper when Dorian looked up at the clock on the wall and said;

“Ah.”

Roused from his focus, Lucan, too, looked to the clock, and shivered as if emerging from warm water.

“It’s twenty-past closing.” He said, to no-one in particular.

“Sorry to keep you,” said Dorian. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Please,” Lucan stood, pushing back his chair as he did so- the scrape of the legs against the wood floor dispelling what was left of the atmosphere of calm. “Neither did I.”

“I can text it to you,” Dorian offered before he could stop himself, closing the lid of the laptop. “If you want to finish it.”

Lucan had his phone out before he had even finished his sentence.

-

Still toeing off his shoes in the doorway to his dorm, Dorian huffed into his palms to warm his numb fingers, breaths slightly smokey with fire magic, and drew his phone out of his pocket.

_> > sent: [mortalitasi.pdf]_

He placed it aside, balanced atop the radiator to shrug off his coat, and didn’t hear the answering chime past the rustling of fabric a few seconds later.

_lucan: thank you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 00:27 and I diverged from my plan aaaaaa


	4. thursday, december 20

“Good morning, good morning.” Dorian sang, propping his elbows on the counter, interlacing his fingers to rest his chin upon. Lucan felt his heart rate stammer, found himself unsure if he wanted to step away or lean in closer, liking the feeling. “How’s my favourite barista?” 

He seemed especially handsome today; a glimmer of gold makeup around his half-lidded eyes compliment a serpent pendant hanging low on his chest, an ear cuff with a glinting chain. This beautiful man, looking so intently at _him_ … and now Lucan knew he was a genius to boot.

“I finished it.” Lucan blurted, unable to keep the excitement from creeping into his voice.

“Oh, already?” Dorian asked, with a short surprised laugh- his sultry, inviting smile brightening to one of genuine pleasure. “I’m impressed.” Lucan was glowing on the inside; his veins might as well have turned to fairy lights. “I’d love to know what you think, if you wouldn’t object to emerging from your…” He gestured sweepingly at the counter separating them. 

“Yes.” Lucan replied, electrified. “I mean no- I- wouldn’t. I can bring your drink? Are you going for the-?”

“-Black forest latte.” The pair spoke in unison. They paused, gazes locked, and then Lucan turned away to laugh, hand coming up to cover his mouth, and Dorian’s own chuckle joined his, and he passed over the coin. 

The drink took Lucan a little longer than usual; it was a decadent affair, syrupy with chocolate and sour-sweet cherry drizzle, topped with a fluffy cloud of cream and chocolate shavings, but besides from it being complicated Lucan was still a little bit abuzz on the inside, and besides he wanted Dorian to _like_ it.

“ _Kaffas._ ” Dorian said mildly as the drink was placed in front of him. “It looks like a dessert.” It didn’t sound like a complaint. Lucan huffed in amusement, and pulled back a chair for himself, but before he could take his seat his phone began to buzz- and _kept_ buzzing; a call, not a text. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he slipped his phone covertly out of his pocket to peek at the ID. 

The light in his chest abruptly fizzled into darkness.

“I have to- to take- to take this-” He said, feeling more than he was talking at Dorian than to him. “I’m just going t- I’ll be outside for a moment.”

“Please.” Dorian said, gesticulating agreeably, but there was a note of hesitation in his voice. Lucan nodded unseeingly and a moment later his hand was pressing against the front door and the phone was to his ear.

“Hello?” 

“ _Lucan._ ” The frigid breeze that greeted him as he stepped outside seemed more piercing than it had for the past few days, icy and clawing. He’d left his coat in the back room. 

“Good morning, mother.” He said, shooting a glance at Dorian- through the glass his features was blurred by condensation, but Lucan could make out the shape of him; smudges of black and bronze and gold. “I’m in the- the middle of a shift right now, would you mind if-“

“You’re coming home.” Her words came dry and crackly through the phone, and Lucan wanted to ask her if she’d heard him right, but the words were quite suddenly missing- the familiar aching chasm within him had opened up. “ Your absence reflects upon us poorly as a family. ”

Lucan swallowed. 

“J- Just- I spoke to father, I didn’t-”

“And not to me.” Her tone was growing terse with impatience. “Just because he’s ready to tolerate your selfish behaviour doesn’t mean I’m willing to do the same; you should know that, Lucan.”

Lucan said nothing.

“We expect to see you home by Saturday morning, if not by tomorrow.”

She hung up with a decisive click before Lucan could navigate his wordlessness. He removed the phone from his ear and stared at the _Call Ended_ display blindly. Distantly, he was aware of the soreness rising in his throat, tears welling up behind his eyes.

He leant back against the window and tilted his head back. The sky was white as a blank sheet of paper, empty as the silent Skyhold street. His own breathing- sharp and unsteady- drowns the gentle gusting of the icy wind.

He let his eyes fall closed, and felt the wet warmth of a tear sliding down his cheek.

“Lucan?” Dorian’s voice took him completely by surprise- he startled, scuffing at his face roughly, but from the tension in Dorian’s voice it was too late to hide his emotional state. “Apologies for following you, I saw that you were off the phone, but- it’s freezing out here.”

“I’m alright-” Lucan began, though Dorian was completely right- the cold had eaten right through his shirt, his apron. He was, he realised, shivering.

“Well, _I’m_ not.” Countered Dorian- Lucan looked over to see him staring determinedly, jaw set. “But if you force my hand, so help me, I _will_ be a gentleman and hand you my coat and catch my death by doing it-” He was already halfway out of it.

Lucan half-laughed; the sound came out shuddery.

“Sorry.” The roughness in his throat turned his apology ragged. “I’ll come back inside.”

Dorian held the door open for him, this time; but despite the wall of warmth and the rattle of the bell, Lucan still felt rather like he was sleepwalking. As soon as he’d stepped over the threshold, Dorian said, without reluctance;

“What was that about?”

There was an earnestness to his expression, an undisguised concern, that Lucan registered, even through his fog. He touched his fingers to his lips. 

“My parents want me home for Christmas after all.” He said woodenly. “I suppose I better find a way back to Ostwick.”

“What about the Herald’s Rest?” Dorian replied, with strange urgency.

Lucan glanced around, taking in the tangles of tinsel, the morose little wreath in the centre of the raw brick wall. 

“Cabot’s losing money keeping this place open.” He said, at length. He felt strangely calm; he supposed that came with the sleepwalking. “It isn’t fair to him…” He trailed off with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry to take away your workspace, though-”

“ _Kaffas_ Lucan!” Dorian burst out, and it was this that woke Lucan up properly. “It’s not about my- you obviously don’t want to go!” 

He had failed to turn off the Christmas music yet this morning; the celesta sang out cheerful and tasteless in the silence between them. The sting of unshed tears returned behind Lucan’s eyes.

“That- It hardly matters if I want to go or not-” He said, haltingly, the burning sensation building in his throat.

“You idiot,” Dorian said, with fierceness that Lucan momentarily took for vitriol. “ _Of course_ it matters- Tell them you couldn’t make it with the snow or that it’s too far or too expensive if you don’t want to tell them the truth-” His voice was rising as he spoke. 

“Dorian-” Lucan’s voice was raw, and Dorian halted.

The celesta sparkled on, oblivious. Dorian took a breath.

“I apologise,” He said, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t.” Lucan addressed the floor, far too quietly, and then he lifted his gaze, despite the tell-tale shine to his eyes. “You didn’t.” He repeated, to make sure he would hear him. “You didn’t overstep.” He bit his tongue. “T- Tevinter’s not so far, despite what you keep telling people, is it?”

Shock flitted across Dorian’s face- he took a step backward, and Lucan thought he’d spoken too freely, was about to say so, when the surprise faded from his face.

“It’s not.” He said, simply.

Lucan dug his nails into his wrists.

“Can we jus- can we sit and t- talk about _Mortalitasi_?” He asked, shakily. 

“On the condition that we move to the table by the radiator to thaw you out.” Dorian said, with a slightly sad smile. “If you unclench your teeth they’re going to start chattering.”

-

Their conversation was somewhat stilted at first, but as the numbness faded from the tips of Lucan’s fingers the warmth leaked back into their words, also. Within just a few minutes, he got to hear Dorian’s laugh again, and slowly, slowly, the lights flickered back to life. 

Dorian insisted on staying with him while he closed up, chattering to him while he stacked chairs and mopped homeopathically at the almost spotless floors- the ease of routine set what hadn’t already been steadied by Dorian’s presence back to balance. He snuck glances at the man in question, as he had been doing all day, while he worked. He thought about going back to Ostwick, of a week or more of the sound of ticking clocks and of staring at expensive rugs.

-

“I’ll walk you to your stop, if you’d like.” Dorian offered, as Lucan shielded his eyes from the sleet or the snow; in the dark, it was difficult to tell.

Lucan swallowed the instinct to tell him that it was alright.

“Th-at would be nice.” He said instead.

-

After drafting and deleting one hundred messages before hitting send, Lucan found himself eyeing his phone on his bedside like it was a savage wild animal that could awaken at any moment. When the growl of it startled him out of his reading, an arrow of icy dread speared through his chest, even as he reached for it.

_dorian: hope you’re feeling better this evening_

And just like that, the ice melted to sweet springwater. Lucan could practically taste the blossoms on the breeze as he typed.

_lucan: thank you, I am._

He paused, fingers hovering over the keys.

_lucan: see you tomorrow?_

_dorian: see you tomorrow, sleep well._

Lucan switched off his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late! I'm not giving up on this fic, though. I'll do my best to catch up before the 25th without sacrificing quality, and if I can't, I'll definitely finish it before nye. Thank you for reading and for waiting!


	5. friday, december 21

It wasn’t until Friday morning that Dorian realised how accustomed he’d grown to seeing Lucan behind the counter. Pushing open the doors to find the counter empty was like missing the last step on a flight of familiar stairs. He cast about, trying to ignore the childish and premature ache of loneliness that was already threatening to arise in him, and his eyes fell upon the barista, balanced precariously atop a stepladder, almost immediately. 

“ _Maker_ ,” Dorian said, dropping his bag with a thud and hastily cutting across the room. “Don’t climb up a ladder with no-one to hold it down-” 

Lucan twisted round to look at him, face partly hidden by one outstretched arm.

“I’m not going to fall.” He said, even as Dorian’s hands closed around the metal frame.

“What are you even doing up there?” Dorian asked, craning his neck. Lucan’s other arm was laden with tinsel, overspilling like ribbons of magic frozen in time. 

“Trying to keep the decorations from falling-”

With a quiet rustling noise, part of the tinsel detached itself from the wall, and swung down, slowly. It hit Dorian gently in the nose.

He batted at it, offended, and the remainder of it fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“That,” Dorian began, affecting righteousness, “was unintentional-”

He was interrupted by a mouthful of foil and tiny golden stars. Lucan had dropped his own armful to smother his laughter, and was now looking down on him wide-eyed, but failing to stifle his smile as Dorian spat and scraped at his tongue in a manner most undignified.

“S-Sorry Dorian,” he said breathlessly, climbing down from the ladder. “I didn’t mean to- _Maker._ ” His apology was rather spoiled by his continued laughter. Dorian took advantage of his distraction, and, scooping up the very tinsel he’d just choked on, hurled it back. It _thwapped_ against Lucan’s chest weakly, and his laughter paused.

“This means war.” Dorian said, and dove for the garland fretting the counter. 

Soon they were charging about the shop, stumbling over the chair legs, dodging firstfuls of tinsel and- when Lucan started pulling them from the windows, fluttering paper snowflakes- laughing and yelping, quite drowning out the saxophone rendition of jingle bells that admittedly, wasn’t as offensive as a version played on actual sleigh bells. 

He paused, once, hand already drawn back to hurl one of the hanging ornaments he’d tugged right off its string, but Lucan merely nodded, mouthing;

“ _Plastic,_ ” through his smile, already following his lead, snapping the thread suspending a shiny red bauble to arm himself in return. He ducked when Dorian’s came sailing towards him, and it bounced off the wall with a distinctively christmassy jangling sound that Dorian barely heard- he was already snatching a christmas cracker to hurl like a small glittering javelin. 

“Alright!” Lucan laughed, a good few minutes later, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t throw the wreath, I don’t- we’ll break it.”

Dorian’s chest was heaving; he could feel the flush growing in his cheeks from rushing about in his winter coat. He set the wreath back on the wall with a smile somewhere between challenge and regret.

“If you can’t take the heat.” He said, with an exaggerated shrug, admittedly a little spoiled by his breathlessness. Lucan was wandering towards him, marvelling in the destruction they’d wrought. He shook his head, bemused.

“We should _not_ have done that.” Lucan grinned, pressing the heel of his hand to his chin, arriving beside him to look out onto the chaos. “Maker.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Dorian said, the pulse of adrenalin and of his pounding heart making him pleasantly dizzy. “About time someone showed the holidays a taste of their own medicine.”

Lucan laughed again, more quietly this time, his gaze softening. 

“It’s... a relief to see you again, Dorian.” He said, and _kaffas,_ the way he said his name, like he was lucky to get to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He replied, and stupidly, inexplicably, leaned in to pluck a shred of tinsel out of Lucan’s hair. The man stiffened momentarily, but seemed to relax when Dorian showed him the silvery thread of it, and flicked it onto the floor.

“Unless you lose all good sense and decide you want rid of me, of course.” He added.

“I doubt you have anything to worry about on that front.” Lucan said, averting his eyes shyly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Just-” Dorian’s eyes went to the menu board, only for him to realise he’d suffered his way through the Christmas menu by now. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just a plain latte.”

He thought he caught Lucan smiling as he turned to go to the counter; Dorian followed, carefully picking his way through the festive debris. He propped his elbows on the counter to wait. When Lucan’s focus was firmly on the espresso machine, he spoke up again.

“Honestly, though.” He addressed the handle he was fiddling with. “You… snapped me out of it yesterday. Thank you… for that.”

A strange pleasantness struck Dorian; it was like the clouds clearing unexpectedly; that sudden shift in the world’s hue, from dismal gray to sunflower yellow. 

“It was nothing,” He began, waving a hand dismissively. “I know what it’s like not to want to go home for the holidays, so-”

Liquid gushed out of the handle, filling the mug in a melodic _portamento_.

“So you know it wasn’t nothing.” Lucan said, pouring a ribbon of milk from a carton into a jug with practiced deftness. Frankly, it was like watching potion brewing. Dorian couldn’t follow half of his movements.

“Well, I won’t turn down your praise, if you feel it’s so richly deserved.” He winked.

“I do.” Lucan said, his words punctuated by a hiss of steam. A heartbeat later and he was handing the mug over to Dorian, who accepted it gratefully.

“Come sit?” He asked, and Lucan nodded.

-

Settled at the table, Dorian takes the first sip, and hears angelic choirs in his head. It’s _perfect,_ velvet smooth, feather-light with froth, hints of hazelnut practically dancing on his tongue.

“Maker.” He sighed. “I’m thankful I convinced you to stay, if only so that I got to experience _this._ ”

Lucan chuckled, ducking his head.

“You’re impossible,” he said, with what Dorian couldn’t help but hope was affection. “It’s nothing special.”

Behind Lucan, through the window, Dorian could see that it had started to grow dark outside already- yet another drawback of the winter months, especially in Skyhold. The lights strung up in the tree branches were coming into their glow, like slowly awakening fireflies.

This, Dorian realised, in the last dregs of quartzy light, was the time to _ask._ Lucan had been more than enthusiastic about handing over his number, and yesterday… well he wasn’t a _complete_ ass.

Dorian raised his mug to his lips again, breathing deeply the richly scented steam.

Yesterday- there was the rub. Because with Lucan looking at him now, he could remember the feeling; stained glass turned suddenly crystal clear.

It had been frightening.

_Tevinter’s not so far._

It had been an intense relief.

“This weather is terrible.” Dorian said, and immediately considered setting himself on fire. “There’s one thing I _do_ miss about home.”

Lucan, to his surprise, looked delighted.

“You don’t like snow either?” He asked. “I agree; Tevene sunshine sounds very tempting about now.” He hesitated, and added; “Ostwick wouldn’t be much better than here.”

It was Dorian’s turn to pause.

“It would’ve been pretty bad, right?” He asked, trying to speak gently.

Lucan sighed.

“It wouldn’t have been, I just…” He shook his head. “Ever since coming here, I think I’ve forgotten how to pretend to be what they want of me. Does that make sense?”

“Completely,” responded Dorian, an image of vivid scarlet arcane light playing behind his eyes.

“I’m grateful for it.” Lucan said. “Skyhold, I mean.”

“Even when it’s this quiet?” Dorian asked, inclining his head towards the vacant street outside the window. Lucan turned as if to gaze out, but from the ghost of his reflection Dorian could see that Lucan was watching his. 

“It’s not so terribly quiet.” He said. “Not with you around.”

-

“Do you need a hand with the mess?” Dorian asked, gesturing to the fallen baubles, the sparkling scraps of tinsel, and Maker knew what else.

Lucan smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“I’ll just take what’s left down.” He said. “We’re closed on the twenty-fifth, and I doubt anyone will be coming by Monday. No-one will know the difference.”

“You’re working on Christmas Eve?” Dorian asked, incredulous.

“Ah- Yes?” Lucan said, a touch uncertainly. 

Dorian shook his head- partly to assuage blame, partly to demonstrate his offence at the notion.

“It’s criminal for anyone to be alone on Christmas-”

“Christmas Eve.” Lucan pointed out, but he was smiling.

“ _Christmas Eve._ ” Dorian repeated, with significantly more gravitas. “Let alone someone as handsome as you. I simply won’t allow it.”

“Oh,” said Lucan, laughing as if this last part had obviously been a joke, and Dorian was reminded viscerally of the more common meaning of the word _crush._ “Well, then, I suppose I’ll see you on Monday?”

“You most certainly will.” He said, slipping into his coat. “Have a good weekend!”

“Stay warm out there.” Lucan called after him, and with heat pooling in his stomach, Dorian didn’t doubt he would.

-

 _At least it’s not sleet._ Dorian found himself thinking, as he buttoned up his coat, and then his fingers stilled, and he stood, surprised at himself. 

_At least?_ The sky was _not_ entitled to be flinging ice water down on him at all, regardless of the solidity of said ice water. 

The snowflakes drifted slow as powdered sugar as he set off down the street. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's just gone midnight here,,, rip finishing this fic by xmas day. I promise I will be finishing it, though!


	6. weekend, december 22 & 23

Lucan awoke uneasily, jolting to wakefulness as if from a bad dream. There was sunlight streaming through his blinds already, white swathes of it draped across his sheets. With a yawn, he reached blindly for his phone for the time.

The _14:42,_ in bold, accusatory digits was in all honesty, exactly what he’d expected.

The catalogue of missed calls and texts, however, he was less unruffled by. His thoughts were still glacial, part-frozen by sleep, he was hardly reading them as he scrolled, blinking hazily. Another notification popped up- his thumb moved automatically to swipe it away, but then his gaze focused on the contact name and he sat up with a rustling of blankets.

_dorian: since you agree with me on the snow, I know you’re a man of good taste and won’t be blinded by romance or nostalgia on this issue_

Lucan leant forward to tug at the blinds’ cord; the shafts of light widened and coalesced into a square of white light. The town’s skyline broke up a sky of pearlescent white.

Another text arrived with a cheery tone.

_dorian: pottersville seemed a lot more fun than bedford falls. I mean, honestly._

_lucan: I’m sorry but I have no idea what you’re talking about._

_dorian: It’s A Wonderful Life_

_lucan: Oh, I’ve never seen it_

_dorian: SCANDAL_

Lucan chuckled quietly to himself, and then felt a little ridiculous, sitting cross-legged in bed in his empty dorm. 

_dorian: https://lets.nug.it/xVLWYEkjVs_

_dorian: ^ if you have time we can rectify this immediately_

Lucan raised an eyebrow, but tapped on the link, and a new window opened up.

“Hello?” Dorian’s voice startled Lucan. “Turn on your mic, click the-

Lucan had already found the right button.

“H- Hello?” He said.

“Good afternoon!” Dorian replied brightly. “I can play the movie in this window, and we can both see it-” He let the first few seconds of the film run by way of demonstration- a greyscale shot of a tolling bell played across Lucan’s screen. “Are you up for it?”

-

 _It’s A Wonderful Life_ was just slow enough for Dorian to interject with witticisms periodically, and Lucan found himself enjoying the impromptu commentary far more than the film itself. Before long, he was laughing wholeheartedly, and this time he didn’t even notice that it was to an otherwise empty room. 

“So,” Dorian said, as the credits faded in. “Thoughts?”

“How did you put it?” Lucan asked. “Nauseatingly wholesome? And yet somehow deeply disturbing?”

“It’s wild _,_ isn’t it?” Dorian said, with delight. “The complete lack of communication between George and his wife? The random misplacement of thousands of sovereigns?”

“The vision-“ Lucan said. “He didn’t think things would be better if he hadn’t been born, he just needed the life insurance money, _Maker,_ I know that was _supposed_ to be a spirit, not a demon, but-“

“I know!” Dorian’s answering laugh was slightly muffled by his microphone. “All that aside, thank you for your company.” Lucan blinked in surprise. “It’s been so quiet all morning… I hadn’t realised I’d grown so accustomed to your company at the Herald’s Rest. This was…” He trailed off, and Lucan found himself saying. 

“This was really nice.” He fiddled with the wire of his earphones. 

“Oh, I suppose it was agreeable.” Dorian sighed, though with a clear note of sarcasm- Lucan could practically hear his grin. “Anyway, you’ve suffered through two hours of borderline insanity, so it’ll be your pick next time.”

Lucan felt his face growing warm, and, indulging in his invisibility behind his screen, hid behind his hands.

“And what makes you so sure my taste will be any better?” He mumbled, staring at the ceiling 

“Oh, I think I’m entitled to a taste-test,” Dorian’s tone wavered, sultry. “If you catch my meaning.”

 _So this is how I die,_ Lucan thought, hanging up the call. He rolled over onto his side to curl into himself, tugging the earphones free, and immediately reopening the text window to type.

_lucan: sorry I lost you, my accommodation has terrible internet_

He shut his eyes for a moment.

_lucan: but I’m sure a sample could be arranged, if you’re interested, haha. I’ll talk to you later._

Lucan tossed the phone down, abandoning it, and slipped out from under the covers, stumbling across the room to the kitchenette to hunt for some… breakfast? Was the first meal of the day still breakfast at almost five o’clock?

After some deliberation, he found himself tearing into a box of store bought mince pies. He sank into his desk chair, rolling gently back across the room, but staring up at the ceiling, Dorian’s laughter still echoed in his ears. With a stifled groan, he dropped the box, and crossed the room to grab his boots, heart suddenly set on just a few minutes breathing the scent of snowmelt and pine needles. 

He didn’t give his phone a second glance.

-

By Sunday afternoon, cabin fever was starting to set in for Dorian. He’d toiled away at his research and lounged about in front of films, and he’d expected this would be more than enough to keep him occupied, but he found himself listening to the blustering of the undoubtedly frigid wind, conflict brewing in his heart.

He put off the inevitable by hunting around for his gloves, but his search turned out to be in vain. Eventually, he was forced to concede defeat- he wasn’t sure what would be open in Skyhold on Christmas Eve, and he’d already worked his way through most of the food his housemates had left to him when the term had ended. 

_In and out._ He told himself, opening the door just a crack- the breeze seemed to flow through the tiny gap, like glacial water. He shuddered in distaste and shut the door again. _Out and in?_

It turned out to be easier going than it had been for most of the week- the snow had held off since Friday, and all that was left to circumvent was puddles, layered thinly with ice. 

The supermarket was, thankfully, still open; though alone under the harsh fluorescent lights, Dorian felt like he’d stumbled through the Veil. Christmas pop was playing over the speakers, and Dorian found himself longing for the awful jazz of the Herald’s Rest.

Thinking on the coffee shop meant that his thoughts, inevitably, turned to Lucan as he wrestled with the self checkout. He’d checked his messages that morning more times than he’d care to admit, hoping he would legitimately suggest a second film, but his blank home screen had simply stared balefully back at him. Dorian had considered texting himself, of course, but he didn’t want to come off as desperate.

The packet of rooibos he had picked up wouldn’t scan, no matter how many times he thrust it at the machine. He swore under his breath and abandoned it. He was _totally fine._

He stepped out into the chill with a fair amount of comfort food weighing down his bags and most of his pride still intact. The crispness to the air brought with him a sense of clarity, that was almost immediately interrupted as he turned and almost collided with a pedestrian.

With _Lucan,_ who was blinking at him in surprise, pulling out his earphones. 

“Dorian,” He said. “S- Sorry, I almost walked right into you.”

He was flushed with cold, his greyish hair windswept. The ghosts of their breaths intertwined, misting the air around them like residual magic.

This was insanity. This was practically fate- never mind that this was a painfully small town. 

“What a pleasant surprise,” Dorian said, affecting a casual air. “Doing some last minute christmas shopping?”

Lucan, whose flush had deepened considerably already, started, and half-hid a small bag behind his back. Dorian an arched an eyebrow.

“Ah- yes.” He nodded towards Dorian’s groceries. “You too?”

“I am.” Dorian replied. “Now I’m off to my room to hibernate until the sun decides to come back. Emerging periodically to caffeinate, of course.”

“About that,” Lucan said, shrinking behind his scarf a little. “If- Unless- If you’re busy tomorrow don’t worry about it, but… I’m fr- I’m free after work. If- Should you want to look at the lights or…” He lapsed into silence, but Dorian could already feel the smile spreading across his face.

“ _Lucan,_ ” He said, in a mock-scandalised tone, pressing his hand to his heart. “Are you asking me out?”

Lucan looked like he’d just been hit with a _Winter’s Grasp_ spell, frozen. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

“Because if you are, I think I’ll have to accept.” He said with a wink. Lucan, thankfully, seemed to unfreeze- a cautious smile was beginning to spread on his face. “Who would I be, to turn down the most handsome man in Skyhold?”

“Ah,” Lucan said. “Th- There’s not a lot of competition for that role right now. But what little there is,” He gestured to Dorian. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree.” 

Dorian felt his own face heat up, and hoped the weak winter light was enough to mask his blush.

“Well played.” He said, investing all of his energy into keeping his voice even. From Lucan’s answering smile, he failed, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. “We’ll do something after your shift?”

Lucan nodded. 

“I’d really like that.” He said, eyes warm with a sincerity that was causing him butterflies. _Butterflies._ Had he wandered into one of Varric’s novels? 

“I suppose we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow then?”

“Ah, yes.” Lucan said. “See you tomorrow.”

Neither one of them moved.

“I’m- I’m going now.” Dorian announced, when the silence grew too much, which was about a second later. “Have a good day. Night. Evening. Whichever.”

Lucan, politely, chuckled behind his hand.

“Goodnight.”

Dorian walked away as fast as he could without running, rapid footsteps echoing on the paving. As soon as he rounded a corner and was alone in the Fade-green light of a neon tree in a shop window, he pumped his first in silent victory. The biting wind passed through him harmlessly as a drifting spirit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so close and yet-


	7. christmas, december 24 & 25

 

 

Lucan awoke to Christmas Eve. The puddles had frozen overnight, and fresh snowfall was beginning to stick to the pavement- a dusting of it had already settled, accompanied by the fresh ozone scent of it. The bare branches of the trees that lined the street glistened with frost. Walking from the bus stop, Lucan picked out the fresh prints of a hopping robin, even as a robin’s chirps joined the chorus of songbirds- between their melodious calls and the gentle whir of the breeze, the silence of Skyhold seemed to have receded, if only a little. Still, Lucan was happy to shut the chill wind out of the Herald’s Rest when he stepped over the threshold.

When he glimpsed the figure he’d been waiting for through the foggy glass, edges snow-blurred, he felt the pulse of joy inside him even before the bell announcing his only customer’s arrival rang out.

“Good morning.” Dorian called, making his entrance into the Herald’s Rest, his coat and scarf still aswirl from the wintry breeze. He approached the counter with theatricality, as if striding across a stage. Lucan couldn’t help but laugh into his fingers upon seeing his usual grandstanding, a warmth he couldn’t deny flooding through him at once.

“What’s got you so cheerful?” Dorian asked as he reached the counter, wearing the crooked smile that Lucan had been seeing behind his eyes all night. “Besides my presence, of course.”

“Just that.” Lucan said earnestly, making an effort to lift his gaze and return his smile.

“Ah-” Dorian started to reply, and then seemed to process the compliment, and stopped dead. Lucan was immensely pleased with himself, to have left him speechless, but he forged on in an effort to unfreeze him.

“And the normality of...” He gestured. “This. I thought we were spending time together _after_ my shift.”

“I mean, why not? I do have my paper to write, and your lattes-,” Dorian raised his hand, “-pure magic.” He set his fingers ablaze to illustrate his point, and then blew on them to extinguish them, leaving behind five curls of smoke.

Obviously, he was- unashamedly- showing off. Maker, Lucan thought it was fantastic. With Dorian’s magic, there was no nervous thud to his heartbeat; just the pleasant flutter that came with being, for his part, unashamedly besotted.

“Magic I’m glad to supply.” He said, chancing a wink before ducking his head to start brewing the drink. He just caught what he hoped to the Maker was an expression of delighted surprise before he looked away.

Not so long after, Lucan set a takeaway cup down on Dorian’s table. Seeing it Dorian looked up at him and titled his head inquiringly.

“This one’s on me.” Lucan said, and immediately felt ridiculous for saying it- until Dorian took it with a rapidly spreading smile and raised it in a mock toast. “Let’s go.”

“We’re cutting out early?” Dorian grinned, and looked to the window- the snowfall was heavy now, great white flakes raining down like a shower of shredded tissue paper- but the sun had yet to set; the glow of the festive lights scarcely visible against the blushing rosey gold of the clouded sky. “Your shift-“

“-is ending now.” Lucan said, extending a hand to Dorian- until hesitation struck him, cold and sudden as an unexpected snowball to the face, and he curled his fingers back uncertainty. “Unless you’re still finishing up your-“

Dorian snapped shut his laptop and took Lucan’s hand to pull himself to his feet. Lucan hadn’t quite prepared himself for the warmth, the inherent electricity of his touch. Every nerve was alight in the short moments before Dorian let go to slide his laptop into his bag.

“Lead the way.” He said, and took his hand again.

The snow had piled up in the few hours that the pair of them had been pretending to work; there was a good few inches of it now, so that their boots sank a little, left behind two sets of crisp footprints. Lucan hardly noticed the snow, was too focused on Dorian’s hand in his.

As the light began to dwindle, the lights strung up about town began too, to fade into sight. Stars had been hung from the eaves of rooftops and rope lights were draped through hedgerows, but Lucan liked those threading the branches of the trees best- there was something especially beautiful, he thought, about those greenish firefly lights- like spirit magic frozen in time.

Lucan couldn’t help but marvel just how easy it was to talk to Dorian, ever patient with his questions about his research, and overflowing with openness, with warmth, when he talked about it, and his eyes lit up brighter than any of the lights.

They meandered without any real destination in mind, only halting when they reached the tall fir tree in the centre square of Skyhold, topped with a golden star that quite outshone what little daylight lingered.

“Excuse me.” Dorian said, pulling his hand free from Lucan’s for a moment to cup his hands over his mouth, and blow a small plume of flame into his hands. Lucan practically jumped, reminded, and twisted away to rummage in his bag. A moment later, he was holding the wrapped box uncertainly. Dorian, apparently noticing his silence, looked up from rubbing his hands together and tilted his head.

“For me?” He asked, genuinely surprised. Lucan nodded, momentarily speechless, and held the box out to Dorian.

“Should I open it now?” Dorian asked taking it. “Christmas isn’t until tomorrow, after all.”

“Y-You can wait, if you’d- uh- like.” Lucan winced at himself. He felt the hot flush of his neck in stark contrast to the chill breeze and turned away. “They’re nothing- th-they just reminded me of you, but-”

“ _Oh?_ ” Dorian said, and the first tear of the paper ripped into the silence of the street. “Now I just have to know.”

Dorian made short work of the wrapping, and with a flick of his wrist, incinerated the paper. Lucan watched the ash crumble to the pavement, rather than Dorian turning the box over in his hands, slowly lifting the lid and then came a noise of surprise.

“Come to think of it, they’re probably not flame resistant.” Lucan forced out, with weak humour. “If they’re not to your taste-”

“Lucan.” Dorian interrupts. “They’re quite lovely. Hold the box so I can put them on?”

Relief flooded through Lucan, and with a nod, he acquiesced. With the unhurried grace that Lucan had come to admire, Dorian slid the gloves onto his hands. They were simple- black leather revealed, under the amber warmth of the streetlight they were stood underneath, to be patterned like snake scale. Dorian flexed his fingers like a musician preparing to perform.

“You- don’t have to- to keep them if-” Lucan began, and then lapsed into helpless silence- something he couldn’t speak past had welled in his throat at the sight of Dorian gazing at the dark leather like Lucan had just cast a spell of his own on his hands.

“Of course not,” Dorian agreed, his eyes suddenly on Lucan’s. “But I do.”

Lucan suppressed a shiver that was nothing to do with the snow on the breeze.

“But you’ve made me look bad-” Dorian placed his fingertips to his chin thoughtfully. “I haven’t a gift for you in return.”

Before Lucan could dismiss the idea, Dorian stepped in closer. Lucan felt himself transformed all at once to ice, ice on the point of melting. Dorian’s breath misted the air like dragon smoke. Ice on the point of shattering.

“But if I must improvise,” Dorian said, and effortlessly, his hand was on Lucan’s scarf, and he was tugged towards him, barely catching himself from stumbling, barely catching the gasp on his lips- and suddenly they were inches apart, and there was only Dorian- no snowfall, no blinking lights, no empty street- just his heat, and his hand braced against Lucan’s chest, and the depths of his eyes- “I suppose this will just have to do, mistletoe or none.”

Lucan half fell forward- into Dorian and into the kiss, but he caught himself, his hands finding Dorian’s waist- neither of them heard the box, slipped from his fingers, land gently in the snow. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated- he had never done this before- but then Dorian’s fingers curled into the fabric of his scarf and the doubt vanished, a snowflake in warm water.

It was the softness that surprised him. The lingering, subtle taste of the hazelnut from the latte.

 _Maker,_ it was better than he’d ever dared imagine- dreaming alone on the forest floor, watching the starry sky turn above him- now he felt it spin within, and he couldn’t separate his dizziness from his delight.

Dorian pulled back, and Lucan opened his eyes to find him still holding onto him by his scarf, looking up at him through his lashes, smile deliberately coy.

“Of course,” He said, sizing up the blissed out grin Lucan could feel on his face. “If you decide it’s the kind of gift you’re interested in returning-”

Lucan was leaning in again before he could finish his sentence.

-

“Let’s get dinner.” Dorian said, hours later, tugging on Lucan’s hand in an apparently random direction. Bells were ringing somewhere, distantly, but it couldn’t be midnight yet. Lucan laughed, but spoke even as he allowed himself to be pulled along.

“Where?” He asked. “This- We’re in Skyhold on Christmas Eve.”

Dorian paused. With the night having begun in earnest, it was more difficult to make out his expression. His edges- the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek- blinked in and out of existence in time with the flashing of the fairy lights, vivid red and green and red again.

“You have a point.” He conceded. “Nothing will be open, will it? Well, I do have food at my studio. Nothing too special I’m afraid, cooking isn’t really my _modus operandi_ -”

“It isn’t mine either.” Lucan said quickly. “We can- try-” He lost the words for a moment, and again, _again_ Dorian waited without finishing for him, without losing patience. “Together-” Lucan managed. “I can help.”

“Perfect!” Dorian replied empathically and began to pull Lucan in a wide U-turn. “It'll be Christmas dinner.”

“Christmas dinner?” Lucan asked, his laughter turning a little incredulous.

Dorian turned back to face him. The wind had died down completely- the snow was falling so slowly all around them, like feather down in the dark.

“Christmas dinner.” He said firmly, and then loosened his grip slightly. “As long as you’re interested, of course.”

 _Of course._ Lucan said inside his head.

“As long as I’m not imposing,” He said aloud. “I think- I think I’d love to.”

-

Sharing cooking duties in Dorian’s crowded kitchenette was a lot more challenging than either of them expected. They were forever stepping around and reaching over one another, brushing against one another as they did so, and Lucan felt his nerves light up like a christmas tree every time. Dorian flicked on _Crystal Graves,_ and the melody echoing through the room gave them a rhythm, turned their side-stepping into effortless weaving. Still, they found themselves grazing hands, leaning into one another’s space- entirely out of necessity, of course, to reach condiments, to close cupboard doors.

Outside, the snowfall was visible for a metre and most before the view through the window turns to void; like there was nothing outside of Dorian’s tiny, dimly lit studio apartment beyond a few dozen perfect falling flakes.

When they finally settled in front of Dorian’s laptop, closer-than-close on the loveseat masquerading as a couch they did so armed with the best festive dinner they had been able to muster between them; two bowls of pasta, balanced precariously on their knees.

By the next morning, Lucan had forgotten the name of the arcanist whose documentary they were watching- but he remembered the comfortable pressure of Dorian’s leg against his, the cadence of his sleepy laughter. By the time he murmured;

“What time is it? I should go.” His eyes were already half-closed.

“Stay.” Dorian whispered. “You’ll freeze out there, look out at the snow.”

Lucan’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he never got the chance.

-

Dorian awoke first, to light turned vibrant orange by his extremely unloved regulation blinds. He stretched languidly, extracting himself from Lucan as he did so- Lucan slid a few inches without Dorian to lean on, but he slept on- and he swiped at the mousepad to wake his laptop.

He raised an eyebrow at the time. No christmas breakfast, then. Christmas _brunch_ would have to suffice.

It must have been the crackle and hiss of eggs in the pan that woke Lucan, because Dorian turned, when he heard the rustling of the blanket he’d dragged over the pair of them the night, to see him struggling into consciousness, glancing around rapidly.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” He quipped, with forced nonchalance, not wanting to startle Lucan further- but at the sound of his voice he seemed to relax; a smile formed on his lips, and he settled to roll his shoulder. “Or should I say Merry Christmas?”

“R-Right,” Lucan said, flattening his hair with his hand- which had somehow grown inconceivably messy overnight, despite very little apparent tossing and turning. He shook away the cobwebs of sleep, and he rose, their blanket sliding to the floor. “Merry Christmas, Dorian- thank you for having me.” His voice was husky with sleep, and Dorian couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m making eggs-” He began, and then, after a glance at the pan, he corrected- “I’m burning eggs. Would you like some?”

Lucan was already making his way over with the empty bowls from the night before.

“Thank you, I would.” He said. The light coming through the blinds, usually so lurid, was softened today, dimmed to the glow of a jar of marmalade left in a shaft of sunlight. There was a knowing smile in his eyes, shining bronze in the strange light. If Dorian stepped even a millimeter closer-

“Would you like coffee?” Lucan asked, inclining his head innocently towards the machine that Dorian had thought he hadn’t noticed.

“Lucan,” He said, rolling his eyes fondly. “It’s the thing I want second most in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *collapses* it is no longer december. I am so sorry.
> 
> thank you to anyone who made it this far! I will come back and give this a proper edit at some point, but for now I'm going to let it rest in all its messy experimental glory until I'm ready to look at it again. I hope you all had a wonderful winter!


End file.
